But Stegoman peered down with eyes far sharper than Mart's and said, “I mislike the look of him. I pray thee, wizard, pass this one by.”
Mart's interest sharpened. “Something odd about him? Let's have a closer look.”
“You might frighten him into silence,” Stegoman cautioned.
“That's what you want, isn't it?”
Stegoman thought that over for a moment, then said, “It is,” and banked to sail back at a lower altitude. He passed the lone figure much closer, then banked into another U-turn and sailed over scarcely fifty feet above its head. Matt saw a solitary stranger in a cowled robe, staff in hand, pausing to look up—and showing not the slightest sign of fear. That bothered him, but he thought, Hey, maybe the man is long on bravery and short on sense. “Doesn't look all that unusual, Stegoman,” he said. “What do you think is the matter?”
“It takes one to know one,” the dragon said, “and this fellow seems distinctly cold-blooded.”
“Oh, how can you tell that from this altitude?” Matt scoffed. “No point in hiding, since he doesn't seem scared of us. Just land ten yards away from him, would you?”
“I do this under protest,” Stegoman grumbled, and spiraled down to land. It was no accident that he ended up with a short run directly at the traveler, but the man didn't even flinch, and the dragon did indeed come to a halt thirty feet from him. Matt dismounted and went up to the stranger, reflecting that his cowl was very deep—even on the ground Matt couldn't see his face. “Excuse me, have you seen—”
The stranger folded back his hood, revealing a snake's head.
Matt stood frozen in shock a moment, but came out of it when the snake grinned, unfolding two dripping fangs. Then it struck.
CHAPTER 12
Matt leaped aside and the reptile rammed its nose into the ground behind him. Matt danced away, fighting the atavistic fear of snakes, and drew his sword, chanting.
“How strange this bitter chill doth thee embrace! The hawk, for all his feathers, groweth cold, The snake slows, blood thick'ning pace by pace, Lacking warmth of flock in woolly fold.”
He hoped Keats wouldn't mind.
Frost appeared on the rock nearby, and a blast of cold air hit Matt, very welcome in the desert's heat. The reptile slowed in mid-strike, leaving Matt plenty of time to sidestep and jab it with his sword. The snakeman was made of sterner stuff than he'd thought, though—the sword's tip skidded on scales. The snake head turned—Matt could have sworn he heard it creak—and its body tensed, drawing in on itself, preparing for another lunge.
Stegoman, however, had his own internal heat source and wasn't slowed one bit. He came roaring up, blasting a ten-foot tongue of flame before him. The heat thawed the snakeman, whose strike caught Matt by surprise, bowling him over—but his feet came up by reflex, knees bending under the enemy's weight. As he did, the stranger's robe flew open, showing only a scaly-skinned humanoid body, very skinny, with no genitals or nipples, only scales—and around its neck a chain with a medallion showing a cobra's head. Matt didn't have time for close study, though—he grabbed a scaly arm and kicked with both legs, catapulting the reptiloid over his head and ten feet beyond. Matt rolled, came to his feet, and ran. Behind him, he heard the sound of a giant blowtorch. A second later the scent of roasting meat wafted his way. Matt wrinkled his nose—it smelled acrid—and turned back, afraid he knew what he was going to see.
He was right; Stegoman was just finishing a very long swallow, and the ashes of burned cloth lay at his feet with something bright winking among them. Matt came back, his feet dragging, and looked down—it was the cobra-head medallion, sure enough, and he suspected the ashes were what was left of the cowled robe.
He stirred them with his foot, seeking emotional refuge in business. “Could be a coincidence.”
“What, that a snakeman wore an amulet with the sign of a cobra's head?” Stegoman's mouth lolled open in a saurian grin. “Scarcely a coincidence.”
Matt waved away the smell of barbecue. “It has to be a coincidence, because the name of that Central Asian goddess the sorcerer told us about means ‘black snake.’ It sounds too paranoid to think it's anything but an accident that we should happen to meet a snakeman wearing a cobra medallion while we're trying to find the princess she attempted to kidnap.”
“Perhaps.” Nictating membranes slid over Stegoman's eyes, giving them a hooded look. “Show me how this ‘paranoid’ that you speak of thinks, Matthew. What, if this creature is not on this road by chance?”
“If it's not a coincidence,” Matt said, “then it means somebody tied in with this snake-goddess cult knows where we're going and sent this creature to stop us.”
“An interesting notion.” Stegoman gazed off toward the horizon. “Who would its commander have been?”
“Possibly even Kala Nag herself,” Matt said, “but more likely one of her generals—I don't believe in pagan gods much.”
“Perhaps unwise, in this world,” Stegoman commented.
“Perhaps,” Matt agreed. “Primitive people could mistake a supernatural creature for a god, after all. Seems more likely, though, that it was a human mastermind who thought of reviving Kala Nag and of sending this monster after us.”
Stegoman frowned. “There is more in your thoughts—I can tell by your tone.”
Matt sighed and spilled the rest. “Well, if there really is a Kala Nag, and she didn't know where we were before, she sure does now.”
“A sobering thought,” Stegoman agreed, then turned away his head to belch, which involved a five-foot tongue of flame.
Matt looked up. “So how was our late enemy?”
“Like chicken,” Stegoman answered, “a rather large chicken.”
Late in the afternoon, the castle woke up. Delightful aromas wafted from the kitchens, and the people filed into the huge dining hall, taking bowls from a stack and filing past cooks who served them a porridge with a strange but enticing smell, and mugs of a thick, dark, aromatic liquid. Balkis and Anthony joined the line and found the food delicious, though they had difficulty eating, for their neighbors showered them with questions and kept them so busy talking that they had to sneak in quick bites.
As the sun neared the horizon, the castle began to buzz with activity. Looking down from the battlements, Balkis and Anthony saw dozens of camels and elephants being led toward the gate from huge stables built against the walls. People assembled with mattocks over their shoulders; more people lined up with baskets.
“They may sleep by day, but by night they look to be every bit as industrious as the ants,” Balkis commented.
“But what amazing livestock!” Anthony said. “Could not oxen do the work they need?”
“Camels are for caravans,” Balkis said thoughtfully. “Could oxen travel the desert?”
“Not very far,” Anthony admitted. “But neither can elephants—unless some carry water for the rest.”
“We shall discover soon.” Balkis pointed toward the west. “The sun sinks even now.”
The guard who had admitted them came up smiling and bowed, touching brow, lips, and breast. “I am Jabar, and I have been released from my vigil to be your guide tonight, esteemed guests.”
“Oh, how kind!” Balkis said. “But surely we need not trouble you—we have but to follow the river.”
“You could find your way,” Jabar agreed, “but you will go more quickly if I am there to steer you to quieter places. The valley is a-bustle with activity at night.”
“Then we shall be glad of your company.” Anthony bowed, imitating Jabar's salute. “Thank you, esteemed one.”
Trumpets blew from the gate towers, and Balkis looked up in alarm. “Are we beset?”